


Locked & Bound

by foreignobjecticus



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Bondage, Electrocution, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus
Summary: Vila's favourite way to have Avon served up for himself.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Locked & Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt on Tumblr.

He loves it when Avon makes it difficult for him, hard work, a _challenge_. (It’s the only hard work he seems to do around the ship, Avon would say afterwards.)

His first obstacle is the cabin door. It’s locked, but that’s not the issue; it’s _encrypted_. Vila crosses the connections backwards and forwards, sequence after sequence. He drops his probe when it shocks him for a silly mistake.

The door slides open. _Clever_.

Avon would pay for that trick later.

Inside, the cabin lights are set low. He can see Avon, a silhouette, all leather and metal, sitting in a chair and back to the wall. His feet are bound, boots manacled to the legs, a hard brace across his ribs, a collar, a tight cloth gag, and his hands twisted in cuffs behind the chair, pinned to a loop in wall. _Bound_. They’re new restraints, not like last time. Vila hasn’t seen these before. When he kneels to try the first lock, the touch of his probe causes a spark and Avon jerks and moans above him.

Oh _. Oh Avon_.

Vila touches it again, just to test the strength of the shock, a finger pressed between the metal and his boot.

He pulls his hand back in pain, tingling, a red mark on the tip of his finger. Avon squirms in the chair above him, leather trousers tenting.

It’s a tease, really; take the restraints off and Avon gets what he wants, leave them on and neither of them gets anything.

Trust Avon to make Vila’s game into something for himself.

Vila tears the studs of Avon’s tunic open with a tug and he reaches down to pinch a nipple, already erect. He straddles Avon on the chair, left hand seeking out the belt on his waist and he wrenches metal and leather, forces a zip, and coaxes out the cock that’s already straining for him.

“Nice try, Avon,” he purrs and drags his tongue around the shell of Avon’s ear. Avon shudders. “But I think I can have my fun without picking locks today.”


End file.
